Brocmal closed his eyes and slumped back with a groan. While the physician continued his scrutiny of the pilot's wound, Brynach stepped to where I waited with the barbarian. "We will take him with us to the settlement," Brynach said. "The people there will deal with him."
"They will kill him," I said.
Brynach nodded. "Very likely," he agreed grimly.
"Then it were better for me to let him drown," I argued, feeling both angry and chagrined.
"Aye," Dugal agreed bluntly. "This one tried to split your head with his war axe-and he would have, too, but for the seawave whelming us over."
I frowned. What Dugal said was true, but it was a bitter truth and I choked on it.
"Aidan, your concern is laudable. But we have no better choice," Bishop Cadoc said. "We cannot take prisoners. Nor would he fare better alone. We will deliver him to the lord of the settlement nearby and the decision will be his."
The sea monks joined us then, having made short work of staking down the boat. Connal espied the bishop's crosier, which had washed ashore, and gave it into Cadoc's hands. The bishop received this and, turning to Brynach, he made a stirring motion with his staff. Brynach smiled and lifted his mantle, revealing the leather bulga containing the book.
"Our treasure is safe, brothers," Bryn said. "It has pleased God to deliver us and our prize whole and hale."
Hearing this, Cadoc broke into an exaltation of thanksgiving. "Brothers," he said, lofting his eagle-topped staff, "great is God and worthy to be praised. He has delivered us from the storm, and from the hands of the wicked."
Lifting Brocmal to his feet, we set off for the settlement, singing a psalm of thanksgiving as we went. The sun had set before we gained the top of the sea bluffs, but enough light remained for us to locate the white plume of smoke once more. It seemed to emanate from between the first and second of the three hills before us. Brynach fixed the direction in his mind and strode forth boldly, leading the way. Everyone took their places behind him; as I was last in line, it fell to me to guard our barbarian.
I did not know what to do with him, so I let him walk a little ahead of me and kept my eye on him, lest he try to run away-though I reckoned that would be no bad thing, considering the reception awaiting him at the settlement. As the ground was uneven and his arms were bound to his sides, he stumbled now and then, and I found myself having to steady him. And when it grew too dark to see the way clearly, I took his arm so that he should not fall. The first time this happened, he pulled away from me roughly and grunted his displeasure; the fifth or sixth time, however, he turned his head to look at me, the white of his eyes gleaming in the twilight. From then on, he did not resist when I laid hold of him.
Once we had left the rock-studded sea bluffs behind, the way became easier and we were able to move more quickly. The hills were well wooded, but upon approaching the first one, Brynach struck a path. Thus, we were able to walk rapidly and without fear of falling at every step. The hill was steeper and higher than it appeared in the dusk, and I was soon sweating; this, combined with the clammy dank clothes made me increasingly uncomfortable. Also, my skin itched from the salt water; my hands ached from the oars; my eyes felt dry and watery at once; my legs, shoulders, back, and sides were sore from rowing. I was hungry and thirsty, chilled to the bone and wet.
We crested the top of the first hill, whereupon Brynach paused at the top to search out the thread of smoke once more. Away to the east, a bright slice of moon rose above the low-drifting cloud. "The steading is just below," he said as we gathered around. "A goodly-sized holding, I think. You can see the edge of a field there."
He pointed down into the valley, and though I saw the smoke drifting up through the trees, I could not see the field or any hint of a settlement. We started down into the valley, still following the path-which I did not doubt would lead us directly to our destination.
Once over the crest of the hill, the wind dropped and I could hear the night sounds of the wood around us: a cuckoo called from an overhead limb, answered by another a little distance away; small, furtive rustlings in the winter detritus around the roots of the trees; the sudden flapping of unseen wings among the new-leafed branches.
It became difficult to see more than a pace or two ahead; I put out my hand to the barbarian from time to time-as much to reassure myself that he was still there, as to guide him. In each instance, the warmth and solidity of the touch surprised me; I half expected to reach out and find that he had vanished.
